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by skittlesjedward



Category: Jedward, X Factor (UK) RPF
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Incest, Jedcest, M/M, Minor Violence, Smut, Twincest, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1784071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittlesjedward/pseuds/skittlesjedward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from tumblr: <i>one where John cums in his pants while being verbally abused / Someone PLEASE write a fic with lots of dirty talk and Edward verbally abusing John until he cums.</i></p><p>Yeah...</p>
            </blockquote>





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He first noticed it when they were backstage before a show. He was drinking from a bottle of water and John was at the mirror, riffling through the contents of the metal box that contained everything they needed to be proper pop stars. He remembered John was looking specifically for concealer. They'd snuck some ice cream after dinner the other night and now they both had spots, but John was the worst off for whatever reason. Edward could see his twin getting more and more frustrated by the second when he couldn't find what he wanted, but then out of nowhere, John up-ended the box and sent all the items all over the table, some of them rolling onto the floor and far away.   
  
Liam was the first to react, leaping up from the couch and trying to grab some of the pencils and tubes coming his way, tutting at John at the same time. "Ugh, John, what are you playing at? God almighty," Liam was saying, righting himself and heading to the mirror to shove the items back in the box with John staring at him, looking somewhat bewildered. "Have you gone stupid or something?" He tapped at the side of his own head and John just shook his own and looked at his feet. Liam was done with whatever point he'd tried to make, anyway, and was soon back on the couch playing with his phone. John, however, John was still looking at his feet and shuffling somewhat awkwardly. Edward had quietly watched from his corner, watched enough to notice how his brother got hard in his tight jeans and then he was looking away again, focusing on their setlist.  
  
\---  
  
The second or third time they were in rehearsals and John couldn't get a turn down properly for the life of him and it was pissing everyone off because they were all tired and wanted to go home. Edward had wondered if it was just a Liam thing, since he'd only ever seen it happen when Liam was shouting about something or other, but when their choreographer elicited a similar reaction in his brother, he was all the more intrigued. John managed to do the turn even with a growing boner, and Edward felt strangely proud. No one seemed to notice, but then maybe they were all normal enough not to stare at John's crotch periodically.  
  
\---  
  
The eighth time it was actually Edward who made it happen, and he'd sort of forgotten about it until he'd paused for breath in the middle of yelling about the broken hairdryer and took in John's blown pupils and flushed cheeks. It made him step back in shock and John never said anything, so neither did he. He didn't have to look down to know what had happened and he wondered if John knew that he was onto him, but before anything could happen, John was gone. He didn't know what to feel about it. He'd made his brother hard, wasn't that meant to be weird? He supposed it would be, if he'd purposefully done it, like, touched him there and stuff, or even kissed him or something, but... he'd only called John a fucking moron for letting the hairdryer get so hot that it blew up and now Edward couldn't even do his hair, fuckssake. It felt like a creepy crawly kind of secret in his guts, uncomfortable and twisting, knowing that John must somehow like getting yelled at. Getting called names must turn him on, even if it was his twin who said those things. He decided to wear a hat with a hoodie instead.  
  
\---  
  
The ninth, tenth and whatever else, those were all Liam. Edward made sure of it. He'd practically been tiptoeing around his twin lately, not wanting to cause an argument for fear of John reacting in that way. It made him feel so strange, knowing such a thing and not being able to talk about it at all. He had absolutely no clue of where to begin and he really didn't want to be the cause again, so he tried his best to be a good brother and not start any petty fights. Liam, however, had no qualms about voicing his frustration with whatever the pair of them got up to, and so Edward got to see a fair few more hard-ons straining against John's jeans or shorts. So awkward, and Liam never noticed. Their arguments got to be so regular that Edward could almost set his watch to them.   
  
\---  
  
It was the fifteenth time that did it for Edward. Liam and John had a particularly heavy blow-out and John had stormed off - well, as best as he could with that going on in his jeans - and Edward had been too curious to just sit there and wait for it all to be over. This time, he stalked after his brother and tried to prepare himself for anything that might happen next. Truthfully, there was no way he could prepare. Firstly, John almost saw him before he headed into their hotel room, but once Edward was sure he hadn't, he was following him in there. He wasn't sure if he wanted to confront John about it all right now. If John even knew that he knew, what would happen then? He let the door close quietly behind him, quickly toeing off his shoes in case they let out a squeak as he moved around the suite in search of John. Of course, though, John was in the bathroom. He should've known. Spending every minute of your time with someone day in and day out sort of clued you in to their routines and habits, and this was a shared one of theirs. Wanking was always done in the bathroom. Hotel sheets felt weird enough as it was, and at least that way there was no evidence. Usually it was done quickly and quietly in the shower and they never mentioned it to each other, it was just understood. Edward supposed this time John was in too much of a rush to turn the shower on, or even close the door properly.  
  
He couldn't bring himself to push the door open further and catch his brother in the act, that was too far, surely. Too far and too weird. Not that it was any less weird to be standing in their hotel room praying that John didn't know he was there because he was listening so carefully for those tell-tale sounds he only knew from what he did to himself on a morning. He hadn't heard a belt or a zip, perhaps he missed it, but what he did hear was thick material dropping to the floor and a sigh unlike any he'd ever heard from John before. It immediately sent Edward's stomach in knots and he knew he should leave, but his socked feet felt heavy and his mouth was dry. His breathing was hitching but deep and he could feel his palms pricking, sweating with nerves, as if John could hear all of that. There was a moment of silence that stretched on long enough for Edward to start feeling sick as well as everything else, but then...  
  
John was humming, long and low, and Edward could picture the way he looked right now if he tried hard enough; could see in his mind's eye that his brother was leaning his head back and biting his lip, his hand on his cock, maybe the other hand was sneaking up his shirt if he still had it on, maybe John liked to do what Edward did and graze nails over his nipples, maybe not. It took him far too long to realise that he was getting hard as well, but once it hit, he felt so giddy he had to stumble back to the bed and sit on the edge. He held his breath, worried he'd done that too quickly and too loudly. Perhaps he was safe. He could hear John panting now, the clink of his belt against the floor. Maybe John's feet were still in his jeans and he was writhing on the toilet seat, arching up to his hand. What would he be thinking of? God, this was so crazy, Edward could barely get his head around it. Would he be thinking of Liam or whoever else shouting at him, calling him names? That was messed up. So messed up. Even more messed up, Edward wanted John to be thinking of him, not Liam, not anyone else.   
  
After a moment of steady breathing to dispel the dizziness, he stood again, and found himself walking to the bathroom. The door was still ajar, not open enough for Edward to see anything through the crack except a sliver of light, but there was definitely enough of a gap for Edward to hear what was going on and now, he'd had enough. Curiosity was winning out, and his trembling fingers reached out to push at the door. John didn't even notice at first, until Edward stepped inside, and then he was scrambling for the waistband of his pants, pulling them up over his crotch. "Edward, what the hell!" It was almost a screech, so desperate sounding, and Edward had never heard anything like it. "Get out, what the hell! Go, go," he was waving his hands in Edward's direction but Edward couldn't leave, not now.   
  
"No," he said quietly, though it was firm. He had to know. "Not until you explain what the hell is going on with you." John didn't say anything, but then Edward hadn't exactly expected him to. His jeans were still around his ankles and his hands were hovering uselessly around the tops of his thighs, still trying to cover up what was in his pants even though Edward had seen him when he first walked in anyway. An odd flurry of confidence stirred in the pit of Edward's belly and he stepped closer to John, effectively closing off whatever path of escape he might've had back to the hotel room. "What is this about?" Edward knew for sure he'd never seen John this red, and so quickly, too. The blush that stained John's cheeks even reached the tips of his ears and there still wasn't an answer. Just John, staring, silently challenging, and then Edward was hyperaware of everything, right down to the blood rushing in his ears, right down to how John's hands were now settled over his crotch. Not moving, but cupping himself, still hard.  
  
"Move your hands." His voice didn't even sound familiar to himself when it came out, and he blinked slowly, choosing to clarify his point when John didn't budge. "Put your hands at your sides." Slowly, John complied, and Edward felt the pace of his heartbeat begin to pick up. He could feel it in his neck, in his groin. Neither of them dared to do anything until Edward drew in a slow breath and continued. He had to hear it properly, he had to know. "Does it turn you on? When people shout at you?"  
  
John shifted on the toilet seat and glanced down at his bare legs and then back up, fixing his gaze at a point somewhere over Edward's shoulder. "Ehm... yeah. When they, uh. Like. Call me names." That was it, the confession Edward had wanted, but he still couldn't leave. He had expected his curiosity to dissipate after knowing the truth but it only grew further still, now. He hadn't expected the slow lowering of his brother's head to spur him on at all.   
  
"That's dirty, John." He watched John's crooked teeth worry at his lower lip, slowly tugging on the full redness, pulling it into his mouth and releasing it. God, what the fuck even was this? "You're dirty." There was no way he knew where this was going, not until John made a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a whimper. John wanted more. That's what his body was saying even if he wasn't giving Edward any words. "You're a dirty slut." A definite whimper escaped John now, and Edward found himself smiling.  
  
John's hands crept back up from the sides of the toilet seat to his thighs, but then Edward was tutting him, and they fell back again. "I can't believe even just that made you want to touch yourself. You really are a slut, John." He was back to biting at his lip now, fighting the urge to rub the heel of his hand over his crotch and relieve some of the pressure building up in his pants. Edward could see the muscles in John's thighs twitch as he struggled with himself. "You know what I noticed?" There was a pause but Edward didn't wait for John to reply. "You only ever get hard when guys yell at you." If it were possible, John's cheeks were getting darker and his chest was rising and falling rapidly with every breath. "So not only are you a total weirdo..." John swallowed hard and Edward relished in watching his eyes widen right before him. "You're a faggot, too." Granted, neither of them particularly liked the word, but Edward was wondering just what things in particular got his brother going, and this appeared to be one of them. Maybe the harsher he got, the more it turned John on.   
  
"Do you always do this after you argue with people? Run off to wank when Liam's fell out with you? You do, don't you? I've watched you get hard, John. I saw it so many times with my own eyes, I watched you. I saw it even when we fought. I called you an idiot and you loved it, didn't you?" John's eyes were closed now, and Edward dragged his gaze over his torso, down his stomach to the dusting of curls there and then that definite bulge, his brother's hardness straining against his black briefs, leaving a damp spot in the material. "You're pathetic." At that, John gave another whine, eyes opening once more as he arched on the lid of the toilet, his desperation tangible. But it wasn't enough. "Fucking freak. You're a loser, you know that? What kind of loser sits there dying to wank because he's getting called names?"  
  
"Edward-" John panted, a hand coming up once more, aiming to tug his pants down just a bit because they were so tight and he was so hard, but then Edward's hand was quicker, slapping at his wrist with another sharp tut.   
  
"Just stop, weirdo. Don't touch yourself. What are you, a whore?" The last word got the best reaction of everything so far, and Edward had to fight to keep from grinning as John writhed, legs kicking out, the damp spot on his pants growing wider. That wasn't the end, though, was it? Edward had so much more to say, he would've been disappointed if that was it. "Dumb whore," he hissed, and surprised even himself with how he reached out to anchor his fingers in John's messy hair.   
  
"Ed'ard, please..." A longer whine at that, and Edward was just as far gone as John, tugging hard with his fingers so much so that it made John sit more upright, arms trembling as his hands clung onto the toilet seat.  
  
"Please what? Please what, you little bitch? You want me to touch you?" John gulped again as Edward's fingers tightened against his scalp once more. "Like I would ever touch a sissy retard like you," he spat, no longer thinking about what these words might mean in the future, just wanting their effect to be useful for John in the way that they obviously were. "No way. You're disgusting. You're nasty. You're a little faggot loser. You're such a try-hard. Everyone knows it."  
  
Edward's eyes went back to John's crotch, watching as his belly heaved with every breath, every sighed moan that he was still trying to hide for whatever reason. With one hand still in John's hair, Edward brought up the other, clutching at his brother's jaw tight and forcing his head up. "Look at me, you slut." John's eyes were struggling to focus, glassy and faraway until Edward shook his face and then slapped him hard on the cheek. "Are you going to come from this? Are you going to get off over me telling you what an attention-seeking little freak you are?" John murmured something in response that there was no way Edward could catch, so he slapped him again. "Are you?"  
  
"Yesss, fuck," they had never heard each other drunk before, but Edward presumed this was what John might sound like after a few. He was slurring like his mouth was full of drool and that disgusted Edward and turned him on in equal amounts.  
  
"You're sick, John. You're fucking sick in the head, weirdo. I bet you'll come in your pants like a slut, won't you? Don't even need to touch that pathetic little cock of yours, you'll just come 'cause you get off on all this sick shit. Imagine if people saw you now, hmm? Yeah, John, just think about that. The way you're sat here, jeans down, dick so hard... Loving me saying all this stuff to you. What would they say?" John started to shake, first from his shoulders, moving down his body, and Edward couldn't stop. He pressed closer to John's body, close enough to feel those sharp breaths against his cheek as he spoke. "What would they say if they saw you now? We were right. We were right about that fucking faggot loser. Can't even wank like normal, has to get his brother to make fun of him so he'll come without even touching his little dick. Yeah. They were right." Their cheeks grazed suddenly as John arched up further than before, giving a strangled cry and twitching, redness everywhere now that Edward could see; all down his neck, over his chest, his nipples hard and then those pants, soaked and clinging to John's spent cock. He dropped his hands away from John, staring in awe and disbelief, some strands of hair and spit clinging to his fingers.   
  
John was still panting hard even as Edward came close again, nuzzling into his neck and even that felt like too much, even though he hadn't had any stimulation at all from his twin other than the hair-pulling and slapping. Tentatively, his arms came up, and Edward's soft kiss against his jaw was like a green light, so he wrapped them around him and sighed. "Thank you," he whispered, unsure of if he should even, because that might make it real, and he wasn't certain whether they were ready for anything like that. But then Edward just nodded, and kissed him, and it was fine, really, because it was them, and it just would be.


End file.
